En route to legality. And maybe Singapore.

In the days leading up to 2012, I suddenly found myself illegal in Indonesia. This wasn’t my fault, honestly. I’d taken my passport and turned it into HR a couple of weeks ago so they could do their thing with immigration.

I’d offered it earlier, but they didn’t want it. My visa expired on Dec. 27, and I guess they foolishly thought they’d buck their trend of being slow as molasses and actually get it done in time.

Naturally, that didn’t happen. I went into Christmas somewhat panicking that I’d be deported come Tuesday but developing nations don’t move that quickly. Plus, I think my passport was being processed, as this week, I had to go to immigration and get my fingerprints and photo done again. As if either had changed in the what, eight months I’ve been here? Sheesh.

Had some logistical issues trying to get that done: I was to meet the driver at work at 9, but once at the office the administrative people weren’t there and I didn’t know where to meet the driver. Or where I was going, for that matter.

Fortunately the mystery unraveled wit ha little help from one of the longer-term ex-pats, who just advised me to catch a cab and head on myself. I did that; never figured out where the driver had been. Likely waiting for me somewhere.

Anyway, I was glad the guy had told me where I was going, because it was not the overcrowded place I’d gone before. It was just a 20-minute or so walk from the office and the whole process didn’t take long at all.

I opted to hoof it back, even though it was super hot, and stopped and paid my cable bill along the way.

That was the same morning as the bowl game, which I am ashamed to say I completely forgot about. The previous night had been rough and I was just glad to crash; I forgot to set my alarm for the next morning.

When I got up, I logged on and FSU had just scored. Before walking to work, I was able to listen to FSU go ahead for the first time, and then once I got to work, I GameTracked the last two minutes, which took forever. (I’m thinking this might have been why I missed the driver – it went a little beyond 9, but no harm, no foul.)

After being fingerprinted and photographed, I had nothing to do but sit in the office, so I cranked up the highlights of the game. Ah, Orlando. I miss Florida.

But I’m back on the road to legality here. I still have to do the Singapore run, which I am now told will be next week. This stinks because we are so completely short staffed that I had to cough up my day off this week (Sunday, tomorrow) plus see if I can schedule the visa run on my other day off (Thursday) just because we don’t have enough warm bodies to go around.

And to top it off, I am stuck back on the 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. shift, which means not off until midnight. Oh, I’m so looking forward to 2012. I mean, after that start, it has to improve, right?

So this is Christmas

It sure doesn’t look like it. It’s technically Christmas Eve, Saturday, so I headed to the grocery store today. The walk there was pleasant enough, but by the time I got back (same CD as last week, but it took me two more songs: I had to hunt for bleach and forgot sugar and had to run back for it) I was again drenched in sweat.

It’s consistently 90 degrees outside. How can it be December? I just can’t get used to it.

And the workload is the same, so it just doesn’t seem like a holiday.

Christmas is a holiday here, but we’re publishing the day after so we get to put it together on Sunday. Not a huge deal to me, but apparently people felt like we were getting Sunday off and not publishing Monday, either.

I have no idea why there was a rumor like that – perhaps something based on previous years? – but from early last week, I’d asked the higher-ups if we were working and got a “yes” for an answer. So did others, so I’m not really clear on why the rumor that we might not work would persist.

So I’m working tomorrow. And I’m working the day shift, too, because one of the day guys asked me to switch so that he could go away on Saturday-Sunday morning with the rest of the fellowship kids.

As far as I know, there is another person – another fellowship kid – scheduled to work but from what I understand he was trying to arrange it to be off so he could go on said getaway. No one asked me about it, like to ask if it was OK with me if I was alone on a day, so I figure he’s probably going to be there.

Of course, having said that, it’s not like communication abounds in a news organization. Or any other business, I’ve found.

So I’m just going to show up at 10 a.m. tomorrow and whatever happens will happen. Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me. And at 6 p.m. I’ll head home.

My Sunday walks are a lot lighter than other days. There aren’t all that many people around and there are far fewer food stalls to dodge. Less traffic, too, so that’s nice.

I see the same people every day, which is kind of cool in a familiar sort of way. I feel like they look out for me.

There are groups of people, mostly always guys, sitting at the same spots – in front of the kosts (“My Name is Earl” residences), at this food stall or that one, at this barber shop (open at 10:20 p.m. – weird) or that Circle K.

There are little routines. This group will ask me to come in and eat and I shake my head and keep walking. One older man at one food stall and two young guys at a food booth insist on high-fiving me every time I walk by. Another guy in particular – he’s there coming and going – ALWAYS smiles and says hi.

Down the last leg, I pass portable restaurants – they’re there on the way home, but not the way there – and shout out to the group working there, then I get to a smaller food tent and chat with the husband and wife. Sometimes I slow down, but I don’t stop.

But on my very last turn before I cross the overpass, there’s one more temporary stand to greet. In the middle, there’s this young kid – he looks all of 13, so he’s probably 20 – and it’s almost like a rehearsal. He is the only person I will come to a complete stop and talk to, and it’s always the same dialogue, though it gets botched and out of order.

In a perfect world, what happens is I stop in front of him (he’s usually cooking) until he sees me. We’re at a point now where the people he works with know it’s coming and will poke him to get his attention if he’s too into his work. Then they sit back to witness it and giggle.

“Hi, how are you?”

“I am fine. How are you?”

“I’m fine, too. Good night”

“See you tomorrow.”

We’ve *almost* gotten this down. Earlier, it was much like the Brady Bunch Christmas play, when Alice reports someone said “Who goes there?” before someone else says “Hark!”

I’m not even sure if he knows any other English, but he’s such a sweet kid I indulge him.

One day last week he wasn’t at his spot and it threw me, but then I saw him a little farther down, on the phone. I stopped and we went through it. I noticed a police car slow up and flash its lights – I’m sure they thought the poor kid was harassing the bule. I ignored him, which is what most people do to the police around here.

The cops are allegedly out in mass this weekend, except they’re really not. We had one story on the fact that 6,000 police officers would be “safeguarding” the area churches from attacks on Christmas day. I went to clarify that was extra police officers and the guy was like, no. Um, what?

Turns out, it’s not extra officers. Usually there are 9,000 law enforcement officers on patrol (Jakarta encompasses 650-square kilometers), so basically this means that if you want to commit a crime tomorrow here, just don’t do it in the area of a church.

So happy holidays!

PS -- writing this thru to note I just got back from a Christmas Eve buffet. I am fairly convinced I gained all the weight back I've lost in the last few months. I ate salmon, grouper, some other kind of fish, turkey, ham, pork, some other kind of meat (though I passed on the duck), rice, mashed potatoes and roasted potatoes. Oh, and carrots and a little Japanese salad. I went back for more salmon.

Had desserts, too: a little chocolate mousse, two strawberry cheesecakes (hi, Dorothy!) and a fruit cup. I wanted ice cream but also wanted to walk home alive.

Two Cokes, an OJ and two glasses of water.

I am FULL. Like uncomfortably full. I really hope my fitness center is open tomorrow morning.

I fear I will have weird dreams tonight. Perhaps involving Christmas songs as sung by Toby Keith, which, oddly, was what was playing in the background of the Intercontinental whatever hotel it was. The dreams will probably involve salmon and pigs hunting me down.

Saturdays and Super Heroes

I’ve got Saturday down to a boring routine.

It’s my consistent day off during the week, so I’ve set it up to where that’s the day I restock the groceries, do random laundry and cook for the upcoming week.

And yeah, sadly, it’s as exciting as it sounds. It’s a complete routine.

At the grocery store, I even pretty much buy the same stuff, which makes it easy on days like today when I forget the list. It’s not so much a list of what I need as how much of what I have left.

After all, the daily food intake is basically a hash browned tater and a scrambled egg for breakfast, the rice/onion/carrot/garlic concoction for lunch and a PB sandwich for dinner on work days.

On off days, I try to eat out but sometimes that falls flat and I just eat macaroni elbows with alfredo. I can’t find fancier pasta and the noodles fit into an old Coke bottle for food storage purposes. I’m seriously still in PC volunteer mode over here.

I do splurge calorically on shopping days and get chips and fake M&Ms. Sometimes a donut, too.

And I check if the juice is on sale. Tropical fruits are awesome, and I love the mango juice. But since I have to lug it all in one bag, I have to keep those purchases down, especially considering I mostly buy liquids. I get about three liters of chocolate milk (it’s gross – you don’t even refrigerate it until it’s opened, like you do ketchup) and six cans of Pepsi. Well, five cans of Pepsi and one Coke – again, sometimes you *need* a Coke.

The entire shopping routine is completely automatic. I knew that, but I guess I didn’t realize how rote it really was until today.

I got the new Toby Keith CD, “Clancy’s Tavern,” last week and have been listening to it here and there. (Also got a couple others, so I’m spreading it out.) So when I left today, I put it on and walked out to the first release, “Made in America,” which is the first cut on the CD.

I came, I saw, I shopped. As I walked back and got to the main street, I realized I was still only up to the last regular cut “Chill-axin,” and hadn’t even made it to the Incognito Bandito extras. By the time I got home and up the elevator to my apartment door, I was only on “Truck Drivin’ Man.” Still had two more songs to go.

Didn’t get to them, though. Opted to start on the dinner, and as a result developed a new cut – smack into my thumb as I was chopping an onion. Or maybe it was the garlic.

A fine time to realize that I do not have a single Band-Aid in my possession. I grabbed a cloth and smothered it but it bled and bled. As any successful cook, though, I worked around it and finished the latest batch of my rice concoction with no added ingredients. Success.

The boo-boo isn’t too bad now that it’s clotted. It’s much better than the four-inch welt on the back of my leg, acquired when I debuted the rain boots this week. Silly me tried to go -- crap, what’s another word for “incognito”? Can’t use the same odd word twice in a 1,000 word rambling but my brain is fried --- unnoticed (yeah, unnoticed!) in what are obviously men’s boots, so I pulled my pants over them instead of tucking them in. Since I only have short socks, they rubbed. By the time I got home it was pretty painful, and now it’s just nasty.

People are a bit pickier about men’s and women’s clothes here. This week I went to a shirt store intending to buy a batik shirt. I got the ER bill paid off so now I want to celebrate. But I’m MUCH taller than Asian women (and many of the men, to tell the truth) so the shirts aren’t really made for me. Plus, I am choosey about the shirt I want. Nothing TOO bizarre since I intend to have it for awhile and at some point, in “awhile” I will be back in Uh-merika.

So I want either something based in green or a garnet-and-gold-ish one. And I found one of the latter that wasn’t too bad, but it was a men’s, and a men’s large at that. I tried to ask if they had it smaller and the lady was like, “But that’s a man’s shirt. Who is it for?” Upon hearing it was for me, she was completely appalled and essentially sent me away. I’ll try later. I'll make up a man if I have to.

Too bad this new guy in the fitness room didn’t get the men’s/women’s memo. I’ve seen this dude a few times now and, like me, he wears the same thing every time. Unlike me, though, he doesn’t wear a Lands’ End tank top, US Air Force shorts and sandals. (It’s the only outfit I own that is entirely made in the U.S.)

This guy. Oh, man. I’m amazed he goes out in public like this.

Unless he really is Spider-man. He might be. The first time I saw him, that’s who I thought of. I’m unconvinced he’s NOT Spider-man. Or maybe his cousin, the super hero speed skater.

This guy is a little fella and appeared for the first time last week. I’m still working nights, so I’m in the little fitness center around 7:45 in the morning. He wanders in maybe 8:30.

It is not possible to miss him.

Unlike myself, he obviously spared no expense on his getup, but I think he put about as much thought into it as I did. My big regret is that I do not have a picture, but I’ll try:

The long-sleeve tight-fitting shirt isn’t bad. It’s solid black and by far the most muted part of the outfit. He could have bought one that fit, but it’s not too bad. That shiny material; not sure what it is, mine’s just US cotton.

But from the waist down, I cannot even look for fear I burst into laughter. I sneak glances here and there to make sure I’m not hallucinating.

He wears two pairs of pants – the speed skater tights and a pair of shorts over them. The tights (if they’re marketed as pants, they’re lying) are primarily black, but have this not-a-lighting bolt-but-something-close design down the legs, which was the first thing that reminded me of Spider-man, though I’m not sure why. It’s horribly tacky and cannot possibly be intended for a man.

The shorts. Oh, man, the shorts. They are NOT tight little workout pants (which is kind of a shame) but are primarily black with multi colored POLKA DOTS.

Yes, you read that right. It’s insanity. And, for whatever reason, in the world where he bought these things, they are men’s shorts. I know this because they have that little logo that you see on the back of semi-truck mud flaps – silhouettes of women sitting back to back. No woman would buy that.

Guys, here’s a note: no woman on earth is going to be impressed if you wear black polka-dot pants, especially when you pull them on over black tights with bizarre lines down the sides.

And then, fellas, if you top (or bottom, as the case may be – the top, was a Daddy-eque ‘do rag on his head fashioned out of a towel) that entire outfit out with LIME GREEN workout shoes, well, it’s just best if I don’t even make eye contact.

I cannot look at this guy without laughing. I almost feel like I’m doing a disservice by not telling him out ridiculous he looks.

Lime green shoes, folks. He’s the one that bought that pair.

I’m pretty sure they help him scale the walls, though.

Scratch that

OK, so what I wrote last week about the day shift … it’s irrelevant now. I’m back on nights.

So, for those keeping score, I was on nights, then went on days for two days, then had to move back to nights for a week because we had a spare day person due to a non-publish date on the Islamic New Year (a Sunday). After that, went back to days for real, but it wound up only lasting a week.

Through this month – and possibly longer – I am back on nights because we’re short staffed (again) and people are taking Christmas leave plus the last two weeks of the year, we will not publish on the two holidays, both of which fall on Sunday. We have a small paper that day (new since I arrived) and one person copy edits it. Since she won’t be doing that those two weeks, she will be able to assist on days.

So all those pluses are out the window. Oh well. I just hope I do get to eventually go back to days. I really liked being able to craft, rather than perfect, the stories. It was more editing than copy editing.

But, come Dec. 28, I will still get a paycheck. At this point in the game, that is what matters. Eye on the ball, etc.

Since I haven’t re-set my alarm clock to reflect a later start time, I am completely exhausted after a week of being back on nights. More or less, I’ve left pretty much on time, too, so I might have to rejigger the alarm.

But I also need to work on Word. I’m hoping to take a Microsoft Expert certification test at some point and, although I am a typing machine and can format text, I am not a bells-and-whistles, dog-and-pony-show, whole-nine-yards type of person. Uncomplicated, please.

But for the certification, you have to be an expert so I need to practice. I’m already in a hole because what I need is the 2007 certification but I only have Word 2003. That could be a problem.

Anyway, I’ve penciled in playing with Word for about an hour, so that’s why my alarm is still set for an ungodly hour. But honestly, I’ve done the Word game twice and have opted for naps after working out in the mornings. I’m just whipped.

Oh, I did learn today that Grunter is from Cameroon, so I was right in my Sub-Saharan Africa guess. He told me today that he has family in Washington. He bothers me less. I see him less and although he still grunts sometimes, he’s cut back.

Today, my day off, I have the usual routine plus washed my sheets, which still aren’t dry but what can you do? It’s lightning badly outside and raining a little.

One of my goals for the weekend was to see if I could finagle a refill for the antibiotic I got for the it’s not-ringworm-but-something-close. The doctor had given me a week's worth and it worked, but I don't think I had enough -- the fungus never went away and now it's getting bad again. I'd taken two pills daily for a week. I think I needed two weeks worth.

In Malaysia, I was able to just go to the pharmacist and buy a prescription drug, so I thought I'd try it here to avoid a doctor visit. The visit, which was paid for by insurance, was Rp 800k, I think. (Not that it matters for comparison, that's about $90). I believe my prescription was included in that fee. I did have to pay an additional for the cream because it was considered "cosmetic," but it wasn’t too bad.

Well, neither pharmacist had the exact drug, but one had a different brand name of it. They had six pills and said it would cost 100k. Uh, no thank you. I didn’t have near that much on me and really didn’t think a three-day supply would do a lick of good since a week’s worth didn’t kill it off last time.

So now my dilemma centers around health insurance. It’s a PITA here, too.

I can go to the doctor and have it cost another 800k but have someone else pay for it or I can just go the cheap route and pay out of pocket. So, America isn't the only place with health insurance issues. Overall, fiscally it is smarter to just go cheap. But if I return to the doctor and have insurance cough up another 800k, that drives up overall costs.

What I will probably wind up doing is going back to the doctor and also scheduling an X-ray for my hip, which has been hurting on and off for awhile now. It originally began during PC and has flared up frequently since then but is now a fairly constant pain. Not sure why. It might be sympathy pain for Kocur, who is also having hip trouble. My poor old girl has trouble jumping and off Zippy's bed these days.

Sigh. Always something. My next day off is Wednesday, so that might be what I wind up doing.

A belated Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving came a tad late to the Americans at the Globe, but not too late.

Apparently, in the three-year history of the paper, one of the American higher-ups has opened his penthouse to the lost US-based employees, and this year was no different.

Well, maybe a little different. I’m not sure since this was my first, but it’s the first time there have been seven fellowship students working on the copy desk, so it might be that there were a few more people than in previous years.

It was, however, a wonderful meal and a fun evening socializing with colleagues, including a few I don’t see too often. And a nice view from a penthouse. It faced the wrong way to see my apartment, though.

Yes, we had turkey and ham. Everyone contributed something. One person spent Friday *baking,* which made me jealous. She, like I, doesn’t have an oven so she went over to the higher up’s home that day to bake like a mad woman. Biscuits and pies – oh, my!

I can’t stress how much I miss biscuits. They’re easy enough to do, I know, but I don’t have an oven. I’ve even thought about buying a toaster oven just for biscuits. (Enter an I-don’t-have-access-to-Cracker Barrel-lament here.) However, since the only outlet available is the one that gets overpowered with 30 seconds on the microwave, I’m thinking it would be a waste of money. I don’t think this place has the juice.

So the entire evening was pretty cool. I made a mistake in turning down leftover ham, though. What was I thinking?

The Christmas season is in as full swing as it gets here, I guess. Fortunately, it’s not much. I went to a mall yesterday and saw some decorations, and Ace Hardware was decked out in full. But I sure don’t miss the consumerism of the holiday and I hope this is it.

I’d gone to the mall to see a movie. I wound up with my third choice, since although “Contagion” is showing at some mall here, it’s not showing at that one. “Rum Diary” was, but apparently they don’t stay here long.

So I saw “The Adventures of Tintin,” which was really fabulous. It’s based on some comics I’ve never read that were written by Hermes. Steven Spielberg did the film, and it’s a CGI film. I’m not sure it’s fair to call it a cartoon specifically, because cartoons, in my mind, are supposed to look like fake people. Except for a few exaggerated features (specifically noses), these characters looked like real people. It was so freaky. The dog looked a bit artificial but everything else was freakishly real – in a cartoonish way.

Trust me, that will make sense if and when anyone sees the movie.

Enter an in-real-time moment here: Just as I type that, something landed on my back. Scared the heck out of me, especially when I went to smack it and realized it wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Somehow, a very large cricket infiltrated my apartment. Far better that than a roach, mouse or rat, but man, it scared me.

Good enough time to segue into another topic…

I’m now on the day shift at work. Not sure how this happened but I don’t mind all. The pluses far outweigh any minuses.

It’s completely different – conveniently enough, like night and day.

On the night shift, I did a lot of wire copy and tried to do things like check for style more than anything. On the in-house produced stories, there was a lot of checking to see if the news was right and if there were any “holes” in the story.

That’s more along the lines of the day, but the stories are features, not news. It’s a lot more editing than copy editing. I completely rework the stories and work more closely with the writers, as opposed to the translators.

I’ve only been on there a week so far and I’m still trying to get the hang of it, but so far it’s nice. And I pretty much leave on time daily, which is pretty special.

So far, there are three downsides, none of them insurmountable. One’s the fact that the shift is 10-6 and one of the other two people comes in never before 10:30. That’s going to stop. (It wouldn’t bother me so much if he worked late or did a thorough job, but neither of those is the case.)

The 10-6 also puts me on foot during the rest of the city’s commute, so there are FAR more vehicles on the road. Mostly, this isn’t bad, but it’s a lot more stressful. I can’t say hi to everyone I pass because I have to constantly watch my step and for those annoying motorcycles.

And I do make them move for me. Thursday, I smacked three of them and knocked aside a couple of rearview mirrors. Stay off the sidewalks, idiots.

Same thing happened on my way to the mall, actually. It was raining, not hard enough for a raincoat, boots or umbrella, but enough to make me opt for the cobblestone (less slippery) pavement over the straight cement.

Well, at one point, crossing a driveway, I was still in the path of the sidewalk and a guy on a bike came, riding on that cobbled path. We met and I just stood there. He did, too, for a second. I just crossed my arms and glared at him, never even turning down the MP3.

He turned aside. Success! I swear, I would have stood there until the rapture. Dude, it’s MY sidewalk.

The other schedule alteration I have to make for the day shift is doing half the workout routine in the morning and half at night. The room just isn’t open either three hours before or three hours after work, so this is it.

It’s not bad, really – I do the running thing and then swim in the morning and bike and do the weights at night. But man, there is nothing more boring than spending a solid hour on the stationery bike in a half-lit room as while staring into the dark – and then knowing you still have 20 minutes once you’re done.

And man, I get so hungry! Basically, I roll out of bed at 6:55 a.m., swap one tank and shorts for another set and then head downstairs. I come back and make and eat breakfast and then leave for work.

When I get off work at 6 p.m., I head home, change clothes and head down again. I eat lunch around 2 p.m. and don’t finish with the leg press things until after 8:30 p.m.

It’s a long time to go without food.

These boots are made for splashin’

Even in Indonesia, Ace really is the place.

In a failing attempt to look like the Morton Salt Girl, I headed out last week to the hoity-toity mall to get a poncho and boots. I fear the rainy season.

With good reason. In yesterday’s paper, we had a brief that mentioned a 55-year-old woman had fallen into an open drain and died.

That’s bad enough, but to add insult to the poor woman’s death, the Jakarta administration defended the many open drains in the city, saying that having no coverings on the death traps “allow the drains to work better.”

Uh, right … because people fill them with trash, thus jamming the waterways and backing up the floods? Seriously? And no, of course, the reporter didn’t follow up on that insipid comment by asking how, exactly, having gaping holes in the sidewalk that, as Jimmy would say, if the floor caves in, you go right straight to hell, helps the drains "work better." In this case, the floor’s *already* caved, in, too, so on your way to hell, you don’t even have to pass Go.

I was going somewhere with this.

Oh yeah, to Ace.

I came in last year at the tail end of the rainy season and it just gets really messy. We’ve had our little previews here and I’m not looking forward to it, so I intend to go armed.

My commute, currently, is on foot. It’s about 35 minutes. I’m fairly confident that I’m not going to be able to sustain this during the rainy season (I’m scared of lightning, especially, but the rats get braver too) because we’re not talking Florida thunderstorms, we’re talking Jakarta monsoons. The kind that causes flash floods and kills people.

Now, for reasons only people who have experienced this traffic nightmare that is Jakarta can understand, my commute time will likely get LONGER when I take a car. Yeah, in normal places, a car can make the, what, two-mile trip – in less than 10 minutes (including parking), but here it doesn’t work that way.

I’ll likely have to wait 20 minutes for a cab, then sit in it for another half-hour as the traffic doesn’t move whatsoever and take a non-direct route due to the directions of the streets and the fact you just can't turn right or left.

With each rain, it’s like that first Detroit snow of the season: Oh! Precipitation from the sky! What is this devastating plague? How do I react? I know I do this year in and year out, but tell me again how to drive? I forget! Let me honk the horn while I figure it out! … That sort of thing.

So basically, whenever possible, I plan to hoof it. Even if it means getting wet. But to lessen the effect of the wet look (it doesn’t look good on me), I’m trying to prepare.

On my day off, I headed out to the mall, not really knowing if Ace was the place or not, but that was really the only place I knew. I tried the two malls and the Walmarty store and came up empty, so I had to hold out hope.

And, dear God, Ace *really* came through.

First of all, they had gobs of Christmas decorations, which threw me not because it’s Thanksgiving but because it’s about a thousand degrees outside. I have so much trouble dealing with the months here. I can keep track of the days, but I look at my watch and am like, “Holy crap, it’s November?” – this happens several times a week (at least during November).

Wandering through this amazing store – seriously, you have to see this place – I found an entire rainwear display. (It was right under about eight unfolded umbrellas hanging from the ceiling – isn’t that bad luck?)

The display included an entire mannequin, fully outfitted in a two-piece rain suit and BOOTS. Oh, man, I was so happy to see the boots. I really thought they were distributed in some underground community of which I couldn’t earn an invite. George Costanza would understand.

They had ponchos, too, and I opted for the red over the yellow, dashing my Morton Salt dreams. The red specifically had an “on sale” tag and the yellow didn’t. But, honestly, it was as much because my boot options were limited to black with either green or red highlights. As much as I liked the thought of looking like the Moroccan flag, they turned out not to have the green ones in my size.

Yanking off my shoes (yes, I wore shoes and socks for the occasion, not just the sandals. I do try to step up from bule trash once in a while) and sitting in the middle of the floor drew some bizarre looks, but what do I care? They’ll get wet. I’ll be dry.

The boots weren’t priced, and I wanted to find out how much I was in for. Now, I’d paid about, I think, Rp 300k for the not-really-red highlighted tennis shoes. (Apparently, Indonesia has an issue with what red looks like, because the poncho matches the shoes, and they are just not what I consider red.)

Since boots are bigger, I’d carried about Rp 500k with me – around $60 or so. I mean, I had NO idea how much the things would cost. But, after finally tracking down someone to help me, I found out my “proudly made in Indonesia” boots were only Rp 72k – like $8!

What a bargain.

Naturally, it hasn’t rained during my commute since I’ve bought them, but I’m OK with that. Heck, I’d be OK with just leaving them in the closest until I leave here. They’ll make great barn boots.
So I’m armed for the wet season, but I don't think I'll ever be ready.

Change of Seasons

Well, I’m down for the count with only my second cold since leaving Morocco. Oddly, the last one, a year ago at this time, was while I was back in Morocco.

Then, it was easy to figure why. I was in the High Atlas Mountains and it was freaking cold at night, with ice cold water to boot.

Here, it’s still hot. It’s just as hot as it was when I arrived in April. Really, time is hard to judge here. I go to check my watch -- it has date and month – and realize, holy cow, it’s November. And now it’s not even just November, it’s halfway through November. That’s just insane, since it’s still *hot*.

But we are between seasons. The rains are coming, and they’re close. Like really close. It’s been storming more often lately, and soon, from what I hear, it will be a daily occurrence.

Oh, I’m not relishing those times.

We’re not talking Tallahassee T-storms here, where it rains hard from 3 p.m. to 3:15 p.m. daily and then is done until the next day. No, here, at least from what I have seen, it gets dark and ugly for hours before and then storms for about an hour. And sometimes, later that day, it does it again.

And since there’s absolutely no infrastructure, the world collapses. The already jammed streets simply stop, still filled with cars loaded with impatient, horn-honking passengers. The motorcycles, however, pull off on the side of the road – or the sidewalk – to wait it out. In the way of walkers, of course.

If there are sidewalks, they flood and cave in. For those that caved in long ago, the mud turns into lethal weapons, forcing walkers to walk in that little narrow strip of the street between the moving cars and the curb, which has already turned into a knee-deep rushing stream.

The rats and other varmints come out of hiding – I’ve already seen this. My daily rat count has jumped already.

The sandals aren’t going to cut it. Just thinking what’s in that mud and rushing water makes my skin crawls. I’m in the market for some boots. Wellies or something like that. I’ve seen people wearing them, but I searched high and low in my low-rent mall today and came up completely empty. I’ll check at Ace (it is The Place, after all) on Saturday, but I don’t get it. I know the motorcycle drivers don’t shop at the most expensive ex-pat mall. Those boots have to be somewhere for cheaper than Ace will have them – IF Ace has them. I couldn’t believe not a single store in the mall had anything that could remotely pass for waterproof boots. Where’s an LL Bean store when you *really* need one?

I’m looking for a poncho, too. I have a jacket, but it doesn’t work for the long-term – long-term being a 30-minute walk. It’s fine for 15 minutes of drizzle, but it doesn’t handle downpours well. Wish I’d brought my FSU one.

So, seven months down, doesn’t the rainy season sound like something to look forward to? It will likely continue until April, when my contract expires.

I’m wondering how it affects the entire city, especially those people – mostly motorcycle drivers – who basically hang out all day, hoping to pick up customers.

Just down the street from me (note: not the 3-4 guys who are basically camped out straight across from my apartment driveway), at the corner of the big road, there is such a group.

It’s mostly the same bunch of guys every day, and they’re really nice, even if I do maintain I HATE those darn bikes. They’ve occupied this little corner, which has trees and cement walls to sit on.

It’s also got, for some reason, a huge tank of water, and there’s usually someone napping by it. I leave the nappers alone but say hi to everyone else as I pass by at least twice a day. I guess my leaving of the napping folks alone is the main reason I didn’t get too close to that tank of water for a long time, but a couple months ago, it was devoid of folks catching Zs on the side and I realized the tank was full of koi.

The little corner is becoming more and more like someone’s living room. I mean, however bathtub-like it is, there’s a fish tank, and even newer, there’s a TV!

Yes, these guys have installed a TV in one of the trees. They’ve set a set in a Daddy-inspired wooden box and it’s on every time I walk through. In a common male-bonding theme, they’re glued to the set.

The guys sit on what appear to be former car seats or simply pillows that are resting on a big, long plank. Others nap by the koi tank. It’s really pretty amusing. It’s like crashing someone’s card game, but there are no cards. Mostly it’s just the TV, and lately they’re watching the SEA Games.

These are the regional athletic games, like the Pan-Am Games, only for here. Sadly, they’re in Indonesia, which has been one snafu after another. (Thank me here – I won’t get started.) Closing ceremonies are Nov. 22, although I’m sure the corruption/graft charges/trial/aftermath will continue long after Mac, Nic and Zac’s grandkids finish college.

Other upcoming events in the area include Julio Iglesias (insert holy cow moment now – “Iglesias” is in Word’s spell check), Elton John, Richard Marx and Kenny G.

Wake me up when Toby Keith arrives with Scotty Emerick, I know, but the whole Western infusion thing is bizarre. Ticket prices are comparable with what people would pay in the States, which means your average Indonesian will not be “Right Here Waiting” any time soon. (A hundred bucks for Richard Marx? God save us all.)

I’ve not a clue where the venues are, but Kenny G must be somewhere around my house, because suddenly, on the street out front, there are all kinds of posters for his show.

His is not a mug I need to see on my way to work.

Back to reality

Well, the flight back wasn’t quite as charmed as my previous flight back, but I made it OK.

Sat on the very last seat on the plane, but it wasn’t so bad. I did almost knock someone over on my way. God, people are stupid.

I made my way down the aisle and halted for someone in front of me. No big deal, at least to people with brains. I swear, I am no longer a medallion level flyer, but I know how to use a brain. I am sick of the morons who don’t know how to fly and be polite at the same time. Some moron turned around in the aisle and WHACKED me with his backpack, which stuck out about a meter from his back. See, regular flyers are conscious of their items at all times and made sure not to inadvertently render people unconscious by their own stupidity.

After regaining my balance, I turned around and WHACKED the guy in the backpack, nailing him neatly with the Gordie Howe elbows. I turned back around as he was falling into the seat. He never knew what hit him. I almost laughed. And honestly, had a flight attendant seen it, she probably would have laughed her butt off. Flight attendants hate stupid flyers more than anyone.

But the flight itself was just fine, and despite the “help” from an airport employee, I made it through immigration. He kept insisting I go stand in the “foreign visa on demand” line when I knew that was wrong. After three tries, I finally convinced him I was OK in the “Asean delegates” line, which had no wait.

Unfortunately, the taxi line did. I wound up waiting about 40 minutes to catch a cab, which was rough because even though I had the number 19, they weren’t going in order. The woman next to me had 137 and I saw them hand out 56 and 71 as I was waiting.

When I tried to clarify about how much longer I had to wait, the guy was like “Oh, we’re on one.” Well, I knew that – “one” is one of three Bahasa Indonesian numbers I know, but I had a hard time convincing him since they weren’t going in order, I wasn’t sure when my turn was.

Fortunately, it was only two more after that, but then my cab driver had NO idea where he was going. Now, sometimes they try to screw you over and drive aimlessly before arriving at your destination, but if they actually make a phone call before you get going to get directions from the boss, you know it’s sincere.

We came close and I thought he knew where it was, but this being Jakarta, it’s not like you can just cross over. No, you have to drive kilometers out of your way to turn around. So when the guy did that, I didn’t think anything of it.

But no, he wasn’t just trying to get to the other side. He was genuinely lost. I know this because we stopped on the highway and he left to go ask some police officers the way.

And they didn’t know. Sigh. Once again – I had previously given him the exact same landmarks and he ignored me – I told him I needed to go near the Sampornea Strategic building and the World Trade Center. He said, “Oh, World Trade Center?” and I almost strangled him. I mean, I had given him those exact same landmarks an hour earlier, before we’d left the airport.

Still, I made it home, and that’s the big thing. It’s Saturday and I’m off work, so it’s been a nice day to recuperate. Picked up my laundry, got back into the gym (no Grunter this time) and went to the grocery store.

We’ll see how it goes tomorrow at work. It'll be nice to pick up my living allowance. Payday happened while I was gone.

I don’t need a hairbrush. I don’t have any hair.

Six months in and headed for a week of vacation, I opted to finally get a haircut. Haven’t had one in the entire time I’ve been here, so it’s been a little out of control.

Without having much of a clue where to go, I went to a mall cheapie 10 minute place, one that offers A FREE COMB!!! with the price, which is about $4.

Two guys were in line in front of me, and man, it took more than 10 minutes but boy, did I get my money’s worth.

Going in, I had shoulder-length hair for the first time ever – even longer than it had been in Morocco. Likely grayer, too, not that you could tell that with the white girl hair mixed on the floor with all the luscious black Asian hair.

I indicated something like maybe 2-3 inches to be taken off, but whereas “turn and spit” in the dentist translates fairly easily, somehow my “hold up the amount to be chopped off” became sort of a recommendation.

She just kept chopping and chopping. And then she resumed chopping.

In reality, I swear more hair wound up in my lap than on my head. Holy cow. It’s not that it’s bad – not even close – but holy smokes, did she take off a lot. I was hoping to go back to work in a week and look like I did yesterday, but no way that’s happening. I don’t work with blind people.

So now, in about an hour I leave for vacation with what’s left of my hair in a bandana.

I’m off to Kuala Lumpur again, armed 3wad tanni (for the second time) with my Delta credit purchased ticket. This time I’m staying a week and have a modest side trip planned. It’s a real vacation, not a getaway and I’m trying to get into that mentality.

Not sure if I’m taking my laptop just yet (I have an hour to plan, like I said) so I’ve got no idea when I’ll be online again.

Nothing happened this week

No kidding. I’ve just come off a rather routine week and the only things worth highlighting are the fact I am not on a three-day weekend right now and that I had a largely unsuccessful shopping trip to the Walmart-ish store.

The second is a direct result of the first.

We got our schedules for this week through mid-November or so and, oddly, I was devastated to realize I had a three-day weekend this weekend.

Yeah, that sounds weird, I know. But right now isn’t a good time to have a three-day weekend.

The schedules are done as fairly as possible, I think, and our “floating” day off tends to rotate during the week. We’re always off on Saturdays, but our week ends on Sunday, which means that occasionally, you have to pull a Sunday-Friday shift and then will have both Saturday and Sunday off.

Once in a while on those weekends, I think an attempt is made to then have your day off for the next week be Monday, meaning you get a three days weekend BUT you have to work six days to be off three and then work a five-day stretch. I think that’s the plan.

And it’s a good plan, especially when it’s rotated through all the employees. But somehow, my days off got bumped – or something – and I wound up with my second three-day weekend this month, and basically the weekend between them was a two-day.

Not sure how that happened – especially since some of the fellowship kids have only had two in the whole time they’ve been there – but I didn’t want it. I mean, I got that schedule and my heart sunk.

That’s because my own vacation is coming up the 28^th, which would have meant taking a three-day weekend, working three days and then going on vacation. Money’s still really tight and it would have not been feasible for me to do anything whatsoever on the three-day because I already don’t have funds to do a proper vacation. And again, sitting in a 28-square-meter apartment for three days is enough to make you consider stabbing our eyes out with chopsticks -- and I do have a pair handy.

So when I got an email from a colleague asking if I would swap, I was absolutely thrilled.

Actually, the email came from another colleague, who had the same three-day weekend. He wanted to know if I wanted to go somewhere on the weekend because he needed a break. And although I thoroughly get that, I just couldn’t do it this month.

However, the last part of his note, almost as an afterthought, was kind of an “oh, by the way, if you don’t want to go, would you maybe be interested in trading your day off” with the other colleague. Oh, man, I was so relieved.

Turns out, due to the rotation, this colleague has never had a day off with someone. (The joys of being almost at full staff: more than one person can be off on the same day.) So our swapping both days – which we were able to do – wound up working out for three parties, which is practically unheard of.

So right now, those two are off seeing a volcano or something and I’m hanging out on my normal Saturday off. And my next week day off was moved to Wednesday, meaning I didn’t have to go to the grocery store for a full load like I usually do on Saturday.

I did go to Carrefour, which is the Walmart-ish store, this past week on my day off. I didn’t need much since I hadn’t known I’d be off and had already hit up Giant with a week’s worth of stuff, but I like to stop in there once in a while, though I’ve learned it’s not in my best interest to do it on busy Saturdays.

Plus, they have had moon pies, which are a big draw. I went armed with a list of maybe seven things.

Well, they didn't have the first item, the second was cheaper at my regular place and the third I could only buy in bulk, so that wasn't a good start. THEN, I learned they didn't have the moon pies this time. Oh, I was devastated

At that point, I had already driven the little cart around the entire place and it was still completely empty. (Oh, and grocery carts here are just as wobbly-wheeled as in the States.)

Since I’ve now been here six months and I can count the non-essential splurges I’ve give into to on one hand (tennis shoes, umbrella – though I can make arguments that both of those are essential – and a movie) I decided it would be OK to spring for something small.

And what I needed was a new pair of underwear for the lineup. We’re talking the whole Seinfeld thing of “underwear particles disintegrating” kind of thing going on here with a particular pair that I must have had in Morocco. This particular pair, when worn with the pants that now fall down my hips, make me look like some kind of really sick hip hop wannabe. Saying more would be TMI and I do not want to be held responsible for any unintentional visuals, so I'll shut up now about that.

These days, though I've no inkling of what American size and certainly not what Indo size I wear. So I browsed some really ugly undies trying to figure out how large or small my butt is now. That is really hard to determine. After two rounds of the underwear aisle (conveniently, both men’s and women’s), I finally grabbed a pair that wasn’t exactly a decent color but considering I was under the watchful eyes of three associates, I just wanted to get out of there with some success.

It was on sale, marked “diskoun 50%” and marked Rp. 30k. That was in line with the other prices, so I didn't question that being the price. They seemed well-made -- at least more so than the soon-to-be-cleaning cloth-if-they-don't-disintegrate Fruit of the Looms.

Tossed them into my no-longer-empty cart and started to leave but got stopped by the associates, who motioned for me to give the Mello Yello-colored pair to them. I complied.

Turns out, the sales process here (not sure if it was the “on sale” or the fact it was clothing or what), what happens is you pick out something, then you get what is kind of a raincheck and then you go pay for it with your other stuff (in my case, at the slowest possible register; I thought I was going to scream), then you go to information, give it to the (in this case) three boys working so they can inspect it, then they summons someone else to go bring your item to you. This person (who, thankfully, was a woman), hands you the goods stuff in a bag and checks both the raincheck and the receipt before you can leave.

So, in case you need to know how many people it takes to help a person buy a really ugly pair of underwear in Indonesia, the answer is eight. Three in the underwear department, the checkout girl, three boys at information and the runner.

This does not inspire me to go bra-shopping, that is for sure.

Grunt Central Station

Honest to God, I am not becoming some kind of fitness obsessed individual. As I look back through some posts, I realize I mention my little routine frequently, but I swear I am not obsessive about it.

It’s just more that I have absolutely nothing else going on. Nothing. There’s just no time to do anything else.

So that little now-almost-three-hour chunk of my day is a big part of my life. Outside of work, it’s actually ALL of my life, such that it is. So here is more about it.

Aside: That would be so less pathetic if I actually saw any results. But anyway.

This week, I’m back on the 2-10 shift at work and I’ve opted to continue to wake up at 7:50 and do the routine and then have a little span of time midday instead of running like a mad woman from the pool to the elevators (which is a blog post in waiting, but other things keep coming up), to the apartment to grab lunch and head to work.

The little fitness center is becoming a more popular place. Whereas I used to go for days without seeing someone, generally speaking, I now come across one person maybe 3-4 days a week. There is one guy who runs on the treadmill earlier than I do and I no longer have to go pester the people to open up the room at 8:30, which a sign proclaims it to open at 6:30.

Monday, the room was open but that guy wasn’t there. However, another guy was. One I’d never seen before. He was there all week.

He's black, so he's probably from Sub-Saharan Africa. He took a call and I didn't recognize the language. There are FEW black people here. I mean, in six months, I've been maybe three. I don’t know why that is.

With few exceptions (women), I don’t pay any attention or talk to anyone else in the room. I mean, for one, there usually isn’t anyone else, so it’s not a problem. But I put on the MP3 and listen to five “Thru the Bible” lectures and pretty much shut out the world. On the elliptical and bike, I close my eyes.

[Although I did have visual entertainment for two days running. The apartment guys set out live traps for the rats that were eating the greenery and caught one two days in a row, so I had more than a brick wall to watch. I watched rats in a cage for two hours.]

So I have no plans to pay any attention to this guy, or any other. But I couldn’t help but notice that when he moved from the treadmill to the weights, he started making LOTS of noise. Like grunting noises, which seemed unnecessary. Now, I know some people do this while exerting themselves physically, but this just seemed a bit fake, like he was trying to get me to look. I never did. He did smile and wave when he left and I smiled and waved back (I'd moved to the weights by then and I can't close my eyes on those.)

The second day, he was there when I arrived and another guy also came in, the more-or-less regular guy who jogs maybe 20 minutes and then leaves. The whole time both men were in the room, we all just silently worked out, doing our individual things.

When the jogger guy left – and I am not kidding, the door hadn’t even closed all the way -- the grunting resumed.

Nothing like “UURRGH”s breaking into your podcast on a regular basis. I swear, boys are silly.

Yesterday, Grunter wasn’t in when I arrived, so I breathed a sigh of relief. But not more than a half an hour in, he showed up again and got on the bike first, right next to me (there’s only one). It was the first I’ve seen him on the bike, but then, it could be the first thing he does. He is quite obviously a bodybuilder, although he has a huge belly to go along with his huge ass. He’s probably in there two hours a day.

But having him come in later mucked up some of my routine. (I try to do sit ups and no way will I do those with men in the room.) Fortunately, while I was on the leg thing he got off the bike (which is what I do after the legs) and moved to the elliptical, so I was free to continue.

When I got over there, oh, it was go utterly disgusting. He’d sweated a bucket full and just left it all over the machine.

Seriously, people, why do that? I hope he saw my disgusted face and heard my (completely involuntary, I swear) “EWW!” I was so utterly grossed out.

Friday I didn’t see him, but could have been because I went in really late. It was my day off and I paid my cable bill first, then took my duvet cover (finally) to be washed before making pancakes. Which, because you need to know, turned out much better than before, and it might be because I used expat baking power instead of Indonesian baking powder.

So I was in there late. Thought I was going to revert back to having the place to myself but THREE guys followed me in. Although I’d never seen them before that day, I’d noticed them in the lobby – looking like they were heading out for a run – after dropping my stuff off at the 5-11.

Not sure who they are or what, but I swear I caught some Spanish. And one of the other women came in, too – she usually works out in the afternoons but I see her some mornings. So it was a full house today. And one of the male trio also left sweat on the bike.

I really hope it was an unusual week this week. I’m wondering if Grunter was on vacation or something and changed up his regular time – I know someone who does power lifting usually comes in the afternoon and it could be him. Those three possibly Spanish guys I seriously wondered if were just visiting or something.

Time will tell what happens in the growing-in-popularity fitness center. I really don’t like the crowds and am not sure what’s brought on the popularity.

It’s entirely possible that the lot of them are new to the building and I am going to have to face the fact that I don’t have the place to myself anymore.

I do recognize that all the employees know me as the person who is in there every day. They see me and make weight-lifting motions as they say “Fitness?” whenever they see me. It’s kind of comical.

And I need to figure out what else I can do to my routine to actually help make some sort of physical change. I read some article in the NZ Herald mentioning how runners don’t really lose weight but gain belly and it depressed me.

While Grunter was in there and I was on the weights, he was in my line of sight as he used the exercise ball thing. We have two of those, in different sizes, and I’ve no idea of how to use them.

I recognize that those things are versatile and I should try to incorporate them. Limber, I am not.

So, after Grunter left, I figured I’d give it a shot. He’d done some kind of stretchy thing that looked plausible, and I tried to mimic it.

As God is my witness (the only one, fortunately), I fell off.

An integrated newsroom

Yes, even here, buzzwords rule. This is the current one at the JG, where our digs have been invaded, as planned, by one of the other holdings of the conglomerate.

This conglomerate, at least it seems to me, is absolutely huge and has its fingers in many sectors. Just the media holdings include a couple of newspapers (one English, not sure how many Indonesian), a handful of newspapers, a TV station and a cable company.

There are more sectors, too. Based on what I know, there’s at least a bank and a hospital, plus a hotel and a shopping mall at the minimum. There are probably many more in both categories. I also know of a “Village,” which I am not sure what means but includes some kind of school or something.

So it’s big. And so is the newsroom. It’s been crowded, but now, it’s even more so.

I’m even more thankful for my little perch right now. I’m tucked safely in a corner with no one on my right. I can watch trash float around and have helicopter sightings that can be a little mesmerizing.

Yeah, I forgot to mention that. Since we’re on the top floor and Jakarta is nothing but 650 square kilometers of urban sprawl, helicopters are a big way to get around. Not by common folk, of course, but there is a market for it.

Helipads are everywhere, or so it seems. There’s on I can see from my fitness center, resting on top of one of the conglomerate-owned hospitals.

And there’s one right over my head at work. I’ve ever been up there, but about three times and evening I hear the whop-whop-whop blades and see a helicopter aiming just over my head. It’s a little disconcerting, or it was at first. Now I’m used to it and I just kind of an afterthought think, gee, I really might want to keep an eye in case someone is driving Cuba Gooding Jr. did in “Outbreak.”

So that’s my window on the world, as JB would sing.

I’m thankful for the relative speaking serenity even more so this week, since one of the other newspapers moved in.

I’m still not clear on how many groups are in our huge room, but we’ve cramped together a little more and added one of the Indonesian-writing holdings.

Suddenly, the crowded office is far more crowded. The empty tables now have chairs (still wrapped in plastic, as is the custom. You don’t like it, get a knife and rip it off yourself like I did) and Dells.

Both are annoying. The chairs are annoying because there are so darn many of them, and they’re all crammed together. The path from my corner to, say, the kitchen, was already crowded; now it’s a complete obstacle course. It’s not possible to just walk. You have to push aside chairs and “permisi” (“excuse me”) your way all the way to either the copier (which means you have to dodge a filing cabinet on the way) or the wall (which lengthens your path, but you get to say hi to Emmy and Katrin on the features desk).

Even if there aren’t people sitting in the chairs, they’re still in the way. This demonstrates how little room we have in there. I mean, it’s a pain in the butt. And since I’m in one corner, almost everything is a ways away from me – the sports guy, the photographers, the lead designer and the kitchen.

The kitchen was small when the newsroom only had one newspaper and however many magazine staff members. Now it’s absolutely crazy with staffers and the help staff (I’m not sure of the word for these guys, but we basically have a daily crew that runs errands and will go down and pick up your lunch or whatever). The big keg of water never has time to get cool because there are so many people drinking out of it.

And the cups. Wow. From appearances, it seems that everyone who has been with any part of the company since the beginning has his or her own cup. They don’t even fit into the kitchen, which is maybe four times the size of a telephone booth. Instead, a shelf outside the kitchen is completely overrun with mugs, cups and water bottles. It’s kind of crazy.

It’s a drastic change from before, though doable.

The behavior of the people is a little less tolerable.

The elevator behavior is just a post in its own. The concept of an elevator isn’t that tough. The doors open, people walk out, people walk in. But it doesn’t work that way here. It’s pretty much a bum’s rush when the doors open, with people trying to get on and off at the same time. Then people are surprised when the doors start to close and they’re not settled. Hello, have a little decency about it and it’ll be fine.

Last week, I almost went Bertuzzi on some moron because, while exiting, she stopped right in the doorway because she was in mid-text. I was behind her, having waited my turn to get out. But she just stood there.

I swear, I am growing Gordie Howe elbows. I’m just tired of it.

In the newsroom, some people are just as bad.

Since we’ve pretty much doubled the number of people in the newsroom, the internet has slowed. This isn’t because people are working; it’s because they’re streaming movies, music, playing poker and playing games. It makes it tough for those of us who are trying to work to get things done. [Disclosure: I do listen to music, but I bring my MP3. I’m extremely anti-streaming.]

The music is annoying especially, because there are a few folks who insist on not only streaming it live, but not using headphones and therefore subjecting people nearby to their playlists, which do not consist of anything I’m interested in, for one.

There’s one daily offender in particular who tends to tick off a neighbor who’s sounded of on me. It’s really just a matter of time before someone explodes.

Hope it’s not me, but man. I’m just tired of stupid people.

Went into the bathroom one day and, as I opened the door to one stall, a trying-to-be-helpful person waved me off, saying it was broken.

The toilets here have built-in bidets, and some idiot had left the water running, therefore shooting out of the toilet and onto the floor. This is what the would-be-helpful person meant by “broken.”

Hello? I walked in and turned off the water. It absolutely blew her mind. It just doesn’t occur to people to clean up messes. They certainly don’t touch their own, but if it’s someone else’s doing, just forget it.

The stupidity of some people – not all, and not even the majority – astounds me. I was close to strangling a reporter yesterday, who, luckily for him, wasn’t actually present.

The story had something to do with foreign investment in mining and how this political party wanted to change the law. Really, it wasn’t the party so much as the guy in charge of the party, who owned a mining company. I do credit the reporter with putting that in, although I felt it was important to add something like “So-and-so has a vested interest in amending the law because…”

But in all my reading of the story, I never found any reference to why the law was wrong. As in, what the heck the law said that they wanted to amend. Freaking basic facts.

When I went to the previous person who touched the story (not the author – I rarely, if ever, see the reporters themselves), he seemed kind of surprised why that was relevant. Seriously, I had to explain that if we had a story about the fact the law needed to be changed, then we really needed to spell out what the law said.

Eventually, I got it in there, but boy, it was like pulling teeth.

And on the “more of the same” subject, it looks like I’m in for another haul. It’s still not final, but I’m told my contract is being renewed and it looks like I’ll be here through April.

It’s not the greatest scenario, but it’s not like jobs are falling from the sky in the States.

Have a Coke and a plaque-free smile!

Bad habit that it is, I really think if it wasn’t for Coke and Pepsi I’d float away. Even though I swore I’d be off them for my time here, I’ve backslidden. Badly. As in, one a day. Caloric-wise, really, that’s what keeps me rooted because it’s my big splurge once a day. I mean, seriously, I pretty much only eat rice other than that.

Coke is plentiful here, and so far as I know it’s the same as in America – not the good corn syrup that it is in Morocco. There, I pretended it was good for me, or at least not bad.

Pepsi can also be found here, and at more than just the one hanut high on the hill, which is where the one was in Midelt. And since Pepsi is cheaper than Coke, I’m back on that for the most part.

But sometimes you need the bite. You know what I mean. Coke has that bite that Pepsi just doesn’t, and there are days it’s necessary.

One day in Giant, my usual supermarket, I decided I’d get my Coke for the day as I finished up. And NO WHERE in all the refrigerated units could I find a cold one. And although I prefer cans, I couldn’t so much as find a bottle, either. Cold Coke. How hard can this be?

There was plenty of Coke Zero and tons of diet Coke (it’s not “Coka Light” here). Lots of juices branded under the bottling authority of those fine Monroe-turned Atlanta folks.

Not a darn cold one in the entire grocery store. So I went home and tried my 5-11. Not a cold one in there, either.

I think I settled for an A&W that time, but I’m not sure what it is, but for some reason, it’s tough to get a straight-up Coke sometimes.

Today, I did manage to find a cold one – in a glass bottle, which is better than a can.

And all I did to get it was to make a dentist appointment.

Since I hadn’t been to the dentist since Oct. 2009, in Morocco, I figured for better or worse, it’s about time. I have had no problems or anything, but since I’ve poured a lot into my mouth over the years (boy, for dirty-minded folks, you sure can read a lot into that, but believe me – there’s nothing there) I wanted to make sure all’s well.

In the Ambassador Mall one day – the one I can see from my back porch – I found a dentist and got the information. It took awhile to find a month where I had enough money left over at the end to be able to afford it, but I finally went on Monday.

Although I do have health insurance, dental isn’t covered, but the cleaning and checkup (no X-rays) came to maybe $60, which I felt was reasonable. I just needed a month with money and time, and that happened this month.

So I headed out for the appointment, stopping at a computer place to check on Microsoft testing. I need to do that too, but not now. At that place, I got invited to a church that’s nearby me, so I might head to that sometime.

Really, even before I even got to the dentist, I accomplished a lot.

After my arrival at the office (top floor of the mall), I got waved into a waiting room, complete with magazines, a TV, books and food and drinks.

Seriously. I have never seen a dentist’s office with muffins before. And tea and Mentos. And, in a little fridge, a cold Coke!

I couldn’t believe it. I mean, as I recall, a big point of a dentist’s mantra is to avoid sugars, yet I was looking at a mini-mother lode. What a country of contradictions!

I downed a few Mentos – which got stuck in my teeth, naturally -- drank some water and then popped the top of a Coke and settled in. It was almost disappointing to have to go back when they called me. I saved the little chocolate chip muffin for later. Just couldn’t bring myself to eat it right before cleaned my teeth. It seemed wrong.

This is the third country in which I’ve gone to a dentist and “turn and spit” is pretty much all the same in any language. I think the little plaque scraper thing was a sander here, but other than that, it was same old, same old -- with a Cool Mint Listerine rinse.

After getting the chompers buffed, I celebrated the no-cavity status by grabbing a few more Mentos for the road before heading to the front desk, where, after shelling out my Rp. 500k, I got handed a gift bag.

I reckon freebies are big here. I took a peek and I got a mug, a toothbrush and some toothpaste, all decorated with little ribbons and tucked away in a little green bag. There’s also some kind of discount card to a coffee shop and a coupon, presumably for my next visit, though I had absolutely no idea what she said.

The mug is a basic plain white one that says “Family Health Dental” on it. Once I got it out of the plastic, though, I realized it’s not imprinted on the mug, it’s just a clear decal slapped on there. Spared no expense on that one.

Getting the blues

It’s all routine these days, which really isn’t so bad. I’m still on the 1-9 shift, which pretty much eliminates doing anything else all day except the fitness regime. I really need to kick that up a notch but unless I wake up early, it’s not possible. It’s at about 2 ½ hours now, so it might be as good as it will get.

My long walks to work may wind up halting soon because the rainy season is on its way. We’re told possibly November, but the weather is changing right now.

That means something different in a tropical zones than it does in places that have more than two seasons – rainy and dry. Basically, here it means it’s getting more and more humid and the winds are kicking up.

This is illustrated on a daily basis, not with cool breezes but by trash blowing in the breeze.

At my new little office perch – which, BTW, is *primo* -- trash has the ability to mesmerize.

See, all the copy editors shifted down a few spaces to enable there to be more Web folks. (I guess – they’re a long way down at the other end of the table and by the time I get the news, it’s sometimes exaggerated. Think the “Telephone game.”) Three of us somehow got bumped to another long table, which happens to be by the window.

Somehow I got lucky enough to get a window seat, but the luck didn’t stop there. I’m on the *end,* which means that I can plop my crap down on the side of the table, which just happens to be where unused drawers go to die.

At some point, I’ve explained that our little work spaces – you can’t even call them desks – are short and the space is tiny. We don’t even have room to unfold a newspaper to read. And the drawers are low, so that anyone who’s over, say 5’6” has to re-train their knees to not bang into them.

Some people found that impossible, so they just tossed their drawers. What they did with their stuff, I don’t know, but the drawers themselves wound up beside my new little area. And honestly, that’s cool, because I stand them up and boom! I have an end table.

We’re on the top floor and, during the daylight hours, I have a nice view. I can see a lot of South Jakarta, including the World Trade Center down the street from my apartment. I can’t actually see my apartment building because there’s another building under construction (there’s always construction), but I know where it is.

During the evening hours, the window somehow turns into a mirror and I can spy on the other copy editors behind me. I usually don’t get that bored, though.

Anyway, during the daylight hours, I’ve noticed this past week that there is A LOT of flying trash. Plastic bags, sheets of paper and runaway kites alight and toss and turn in the wind. It’s really amazing how much trash there is, and how high it gets. I mean, we’re on the 11^th floor and sometimes the stuff gets higher than the building.

Litter is a huge problem here. Honestly, I think it’s as bad as Morocco. I mean, America has litter and it’s bad, but you rarely, if ever, actually see someone throwing trash into the street.

Here, it’s a rare day that you don’t see someone tossing a piece of paper, plastic, cigarette butt or otherwise into the street, sidewalk, sewer or what have you. It’s amazing that there’s no sense of giving a crap about the environment. It’s utter filth everywhere.

Like in America, people blame everything on the government. The government, people say, should tell people that it’s bad to do things, such as litter, splice electric cords or carry five people, helmetless, on motorcycles.

Like in America, the government is stupid, too. Such as, when a woman is gang-raped on a transport bus, having the governor of Jakarta send a warning that women must not wear shorts or miniskirts on public transport so as not to tempt men. (I wish I were making this up.)

Or when they say if we put in public parking (which they should do), it will clear the sidewalks of the motorcycles (yeah, right), which will then eliminate litter (yeah, right.)

It’s everywhere, and it’s disgusting. I just don’t think anyone needs to be told (especially from an inept government) that throwing litter left and right is bad. I think these folks should be strung up and then shot down.

There are a few honest attempts at beautifying the place, but they’re on such a small scale they get shut down quickly. Last week, someone tried to reclaim a tiny bit of sidewalk to make into a park and the stuff (including fake grass) disappeared. Sigh.

Someone’s trying to beautify my overpass, though, and so far it’s nice. It’s taking them forever, though.

My stretch of Jalen Doktor (the name of the road, I think), is currently under construction and has been for some time. Right now, in addition to the road improvements, they’re doing something with the water. There are several spots on my last leg home where I have to walk out in the street because there are workmen in huge holes.

These guys are RED. Like Alabama clay red. I have no idea what kind of earth Jakarta is built on, but the clay used in construction is red. And these guys standing in the holes are completely covered head to toe. Honestly, they could pass off as another race.

And my overpass is blue. Some other guys have been painting it for a couple of weeks now (sort of a cobalt and kind of a navy) and it’s looking good so far, although the cement is still nasty and there’s trash all over the sides.

My guess is that some bank bought the naming rights because all of a sudden, it’s got a lighted billboard for ANZ on it and now it’s got blue shiny handrails. And today, they were ripping off the tin roof and installing some fiberglass-like blue stuff.

Now at night, it’s kind of surreal. It’s all blue and gives off this blue vibe that’s kind of moody. With the new roof, I wonder if it’s going to be lighter (and if that one guy is going to be able to continue sleeping.) They weren’t quite done with the roof when I passed by after grocery shopping today, but even in the daylight it seemed lighter. I think the fiberglass is a bit translucent or something.

But night is a very bluesy feel. I almost feel like someone should be sitting in the little stairwell, playing a harmonica.